The Dreams of Thridattas
by The Allusive Man
Summary: The Collector General considers his plight as Shepard and crew assault the Collector Base. Speculative flashfic written before ME3.


Tranquility gave way to confusion, and then to reluctance as Thridattas stirred from a deep slumber. He had been dreaming of a peaceful people, strange but somehow familiar, with slender limbs and long beards of tubular appendages. Once, they had lived in great cities of pyramids and spires, unrivaled and unchallenged as their civilization spread across the systems of the galaxy. They were dead now, slain; he knew this to be true. Still, it was comforting to dream of them, and so he did.

In his dreams he would be among the people. Oddly, he thought of them as _his_ people, though he bore them little resemblance. He would listen as they manipulated the flow of air through the countless valves of their beard-digits to produce eldritch melodies of impossible beauty and complexity. The songs haunted him even into his waking hours. At times, the people would publicly and unabashedly entwine their piped beards in demonstrations of physical intimacy. Thridattas understood this to be an act related to the biological drive to reproduce, but it seemed to signify something else as well; something that he longed for even as he failed to put a name to it.

As the shroud of somnolence slowly receded, he wondered how many cycles he had slept this time. Dozens? Hundreds? It was a pointless question, and one that promised to usher him back to a blissful numbness. But not yet, he decided, as he became more keenly aware of what had awoken him. A chaotic jumble of sensory data washed over him: fragmented glimpses of a battle, a whiff of burning flesh, terrified chatterings of broodmates he barely knew, and pulses of chilling anger emanating from the Master. And there was something else interlaced with the anger; tendrils of another emotion. _Fear? _No, not fear exactly, but a hint of something between uncertainty and desperation.

Curious now, Thridattas contemplated going _above_ to see what could be causing the Master's supreme self-assurance to waver. Whatever it was, it must be quite fearsome, and yet Thridattas did not fear this thing. Nothing from _outside _could worsen his fate. His only concern was how the Master might react to his impudence.

_Above_. It was a place he ventured on occasion, in between lengthy dreams. He had learned not to linger there, for he was regarded as little more than an annoying guest whose presence was not long suffered. He dimly recalled a time when he recognized irony in the situation, but it had long since faded to a simple truth. Whenever he overstayed his welcome, the Master would swat him away with an icily searing lance of indignation, and it would be a long time before he dared come again.

Echoes of sensory data continued to reverberate down to where he lay furled. They were chaotic, violent, and strangely enticing. He weighed the risk of venturing upward. The Master might be even less tolerant than usual and punish his intrusion by taking away his dreaming. The Master had threatened to do so before, and it was a threat that carried the ultimate weight. Dreams were all that Thridattas had left.

On the other hand, perhaps - just perhaps - the Master would be too preoccupied to notice him.

He decided to brave it.

Cautiously, he floated up, seeping through the warm membranes of his prison, until he reached the outer layer of consciousness. He could not enter fully, for this is where the cold, dark presence of the Master resided. But he could lurk in the fringes, and that was enough. From here, he could actually perceive the outside. He could not move his many limbs, or decide which objects to clasp or release with his many hands. He could not even do so much as turn his head to direct his gaze. But at least he could _perceive_.

And what he perceived was both terrible and wondrous. There were invaders aboard the Hive! No one had ever dared such a thing. It was impossible. Unimaginable. And yet Thridattas could see the evidence of their presence on the many displays that the Master was monitoring with a growing sense of alarm. Moreover, he caught glimpses of them in the shards of sensation that were leaking from the Master with increasing frequency. A collection of aliens, bristling with weapons and armor, fighting with determination and purpose. A purpose that contradicted that of the Master. Already, they had brought release to dozens of his broodmates.

But what was it these aliens intended? Surely they would fail. The Master was invincible. His will undeniable.

Yet the Master seemed powerless to stop them. He frantically directed and redirected the broodmates, coordinating them in a defense against the enemies. Every short while, as He could, He transferred a part of Himself into one of the drones. It was from these avatars, Thridattas realized, that the sensory data which had awoken him emanated. And each time the invaders slew one of the avatars, Thridattas could see the Master's presence fray a little more.

Was it possible? Would these invaders succeed in their purpose? Would he soon have the release already granted to hundreds of his broodmates? For the first time in many, many cycles, Thridattas dared to hope.

Soon, even the New Master, the one being built from the distilled essences of a hundred million humans, had fallen before the invaders. Thridattas exulted before suddenly realizing that he had encroached almost fully into his outer mind. The Master, whose presence had faded to gray, turned to regard Thridattas with scorn.

Then he simply disappeared.

With shock, Thridattas realized he was in control of his body. He could gaze upon what he wished! He could move his limbs, and touch whatever he desired!

But there was no time to revel in the realization. There were only seconds left. Quickly, he moved his hands over the control panel. There was only time to unlock one database. He chose one and transmitted it in a compressed burst to the surrounding space. Perhaps the invaders would have use for it.

As his reward came to him in a white flash, Thridattas wondered if he would dream again.

* * *

><p>AN: I wrote this little piece of speculative fiction during the long wait between ME2 and ME3. At the time, I was operating on the assumption that the Protheans resembled the squid-faced creatures depicted by the statues on Ilos and seen in some of the visions imparted by the Prothean beacons encountered by Shepard. I tried to imagine what those creatures were like, and how they communicated and interacted with one another. Hence some of the imagery in Thridattas' dreams. Turns out those creatures were actually the Inusannon, the dominant race from the cycle before the Protheans. Oh well.


End file.
